Terry Brooks - The Darkling Child

“Kind words, Paxon. But in spite of what you think you see, my passing is at hand. I must go to my rest in the way of all leaders of the order–and for that, I require your company. I wish you to make the journey with me to the Valley of Shale and the Hadeshorn, where I will be met and taken home. I would like to leave at once. Though I may look strong, I can feel myself failing. It is a scary thing to be strong one moment and know that in the next your life will be over. Will you accompany me?”

“Of course,” he said at once. “Should I arrange transport?” He paused. “What happens once we get there?”

She gave him that old, familiar smile. “Best wait and see for yourself. I am not as certain of it as I would like to be. And don’t give any further thought to arranging for an airship. Isaturin is taking care of that now. Just sit with me. Keep me company.”

Paxon sat back. “Do the others in the Druid Order know this is happening?”

She shook her head. “Keratrix will tell them once I am gone. If he tells them now, there will be an unending line of mourners and well–wishers, and I don’t think I can bear that. I want to depart this world quietly. When my sister Arling left me all those years ago–when she embraced the fate decreed for her and transformed into the Ellcrys–well, that was quite enough trauma and emotional turmoil for several lifetimes. My departure will be considerably less dramatic.”

She gave a deep sigh and leaned back. “Ah, Arling, I wish I could come to you one last time.” She closed her eyes, and tears streaked her cheeks. Then she wiped them away unself–consciously and smiled at Paxon. “I have never gotten over losing her. Not even after all these years.”

Paxon shifted uneasily, not knowing what to say.

“I have revealed the situation with Chrysallin to Isaturin as the next head of the order,” she said. “I have told him of my fears and of my plans for her should her memory of the wishsong resurface. He will act in my place as her mentor and teacher when it becomes necessary. But I rely mostly on you to keep watch over her, Paxon. You are closest to her and likely to notice first if any changes occur. She will be safe at Paranor from everything save herself. You must help her with that.”

“I will,” he promised.

She straightened, and for a moment he thought she intended to rise. But she remained seated and added, “At some point, Chrysallin will discover the truth. I am convinced of it. I don’t know what effect it will have on her, but you need to be there to help her through it. So don’t fool yourself into thinking this will never happen. I worry that your decision not to tell her is more an avoidance than a kindness. You hope she will never remember what happened to her, what she had to do to save herself. But she will, Paxon. One day, she will. Don’t fail in this. Tell her soon. Chrysallin’s power is well documented in the records, and it is a powerful and sometimes unpredictable weapon.”

He leaned forward. “I have been considering it. I am aware of the arguments for why I should tell her now. But I cannot get past the danger it poses if I am wrong.”

She studied him a moment. “I know you would like this to simply go away, but I don’t think you can depend on that. So telling her in advance might be best. Use your good judgment on how to go about it if you decide to do so. She will listen to you. She adores you. Five years ago, it would have been hard to reveal the truth to her. But now she is grown; she is a woman, and her strength and maturity are much greater than when she first came to us.”

He found himself amazed that Aphenglow Elessedil would take the time and effort to try to help with his sister when there was so much else she might be doing. But she was still Ard Rhys of the Fourth Druid Order, and she would have her priorities firmly in hand even at the end of her life. She would not deviate from who she had been and what she had done for well over a hundred years. That was her nature, a direct result of the demands of her position. She would want to set her house in order.

“I owe you so much,” he said, the words escaping him before he could think better of them. “You’ve given me this life, and I will never forget that.”

“You earned what you have, Paxon,” she said quietly. “No need to thank me for that.”

He basked in her smile. “Can I bring you something to drink? Or eat? Before we set out?”

She shook her head. “We are not sitting here so that you can do something for me. We are here so that I can do something for you. Part of it is warning you of the risk to your sister. Another is warning you to beware of Arcannen. Do not think him gone for good–no more than Chrysallin’s wishsong. He is a dangerous man with a long memory. He will be back for you and for Chrys. He will not tolerate leaving what you cost him unavenged. He will not be able to live with the humiliation and regret. When you least expect it, he will surface again, and he will seek to exact a price for what he has suffered.”

“I am not afraid of him,” Paxon declared at once.

“You should be. He nearly undid the Druid Order before you stopped him. He is capable of great evil. Watch out for him. Be careful of yourself and your sister.”

She paused. “One last thing. Isaturin will need time to learn his place as Ard Rhys. No one can prepare for this until they hold the office. It was so for me; it will be so for him. Help him adjust. Give him your support. Keep him safe. You are fully grown into your paladin shoes, a young man with great skill and the good sense to know how to use it. Make use of it for him. Be his right hand and protector in these early months of his service to the order. Now take my arm.”

She reached out, and he rose quickly to assist her. Her arm caught hold of his and she levered herself to her feet smoothly, suddenly seeming younger and stronger. She smiled at the look on his face.

“Now we can go,” she said.

WITH KERATRIX GUIDING THE WAY AND PAXON LENDING suport, Aphenglow Elessedil walked down the corridors and passageways of the Druid’s’ Keep toward the airship platform off the north tower. A few Druids passed them on their way, pausing to offer greetings to which the Ard Rhys dutifully replied before continuing on. A suggestion of haste marked her progress–and in truth haste defined the nature of her leaving, no matter how you looked at it.

She deviated from her path only once. Pausing at the door that opened out onto the landing platform and the waiting airship, she gestured Keratrix away, standing silently with Paxon as she awaited her aide’s return. The seconds slipped by in slow procession, the measure of her life steadily shortening. More than once, the Highlander thought to speak with her, but something in her demeanor kept him from doing so. She was alone with her thoughts, and he sensed that, for now, she wanted it that way.

When Keratrix returned, he had Chrysallin in tow.

Paxon’s sister rushed ahead of the scribe toward Aphenglow, all protocol and formality abandoned as they embraced. Chrysallin began to cry, her face stricken.

“Don’t go, Mistress,” she sobbed. “Don’t leave us!”

“You’ve guessed, then,” Aphenglow replied, taking her by the shoulders and moving her away so she could look at her. “You are always so quick to know the truth. It will serve you well.”

Chrysallin seemed to make a monumental effort to get her tears under control, straightening herself, becoming composed. She was tall and slender, her girlishness gone–a young woman now, strong and steady, her path through the world determined. “Is there nothing that can be done?” she asked the Ard Rhys quietly.